


back to square one

by Sonny



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-28
Updated: 2011-06-28
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:30:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonny/pseuds/Sonny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post S1 Finale – Brian has a strange ritual he does to replace Michael not being in his life. This time he gets caught and is able to let go of some dormant feelings and emotions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	back to square one

**Author's Note:**

> For Sandra [no_pretending on LJ]... based slightly on Sara Bareilles' song “Breathe Again”

[   
](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v163/sonnygrl/BrianMichael%20Cover%20Art/?action=view&current=back2square1TitleName.jpg)

  
  
  
_“... but what kind of heart doesn't look back_   
_at the comfortable glow from the porch_   
_the one I still call yours?_   
_all those words came undone_   
_and now I'm not the only one_   
_facing ghosts that decide_   
_if the fire inside still burns...”_   
**[**   
**_breathe again... sarah bareilles_ ]**   
  


**~~*~~**  
  
He doesn't know how many times he's done this. It seems like he's all right for a few days, then he gets the overwhelming sense of melancholy—nothing seems to alleviate the agony. Not any of his old vices anyway: not drugs, alcohol, combo of both or the random anonymous sex he once used to covet. Now it all makes him feel more empty than it ever has before.

He used to find some kind of solace in visiting young Justin Taylor in the hospital, but now that the teenager is upright, mobile and too alert to hide from anymore, Brian's stopped going altogether. He wants to stop going to the diner, meeting Emmett and Ted for breakfast and/or lunch. God forbid he's there when it's Debbie's shift. He finds he hates and likes the strange comforts he finds in anyone Michael has come into contact with over the years, having touched the life of. He thought Gus was safest until he rocks him at night and gets to thinking about all the times Michael made him promise that if they had kids, they would do things differently.

In the end, he's always back at square one. Back at the house he _truly_ grew up in and he's parked the Jeep at the curb, leaning on the bodywork to stare at this rickety old piece of shit home. He's seen the movement inside; once or twice the sheer drapes have been pulled back to look out at the front yard.

Debbie doesn't acknowledge she's seen him, but Vic has, having given a small wave.

Brian had to avert his head, bunching his shoulders to ward off a chill and then bury his face in the turn of a shoulder joint and upper biceps. He's actually stemming tears because he wants badly to be inside that house, but he won't go in unless invited.

~*~

Vic turns from the window, heading into the kitchen. “I wanna eat outdoors.” He says it matter-of-factly, like there will be no complaining or changing of his mind.

“Vic, you'll catch cold.” Debbie starts to reorganize the living room for some reason, just trying to find ways she can remain in this space to keep an eye on Brian's whereabouts.

“I'm HIV Positive.” Vic smiles though he sees Debbie wants to grumble and complain. “If all I get is a cold... may God bless me.” He knows she's aware he has sneaky tactics up his sleeves. He doesn't care, he's been struggling to survive for years, eating in the backyard won't kill him. At least not today, right this second. “Oh... an' make me a second plate of food.”

“Vic...” Debbie releases a sigh of exasperation because she knows exactly what her little brother plans on doing. She can't handle seeing Brian now.

“What?” Vic feigns innocence as he goes to the fridge to pull out drinks: a few bottles of beer and glasses for the pitcher of iced tea Debbie had made for him.

“At least put on that wool sweater-coat I bought you.”

“I will.” It was upstairs in the hall closet. “Where do you think I'm going?” But before he heads to the staircase, he makes one last check through the window glass to the front yard—Brian's no longer near the Jeep. Vic makes a rare mad-dash up the steps and opens the closet to find the heavy Irish wool sweater-coat he loves, because it wards off weird chills that would course through his body. It's like he's getting ready for a “date”—in the bathroom, combing his hair and trying to straighten his clothing and making sure he smells nice.

~*~

He can see Debbie start to fill up the old redwood picnic table, with plates and drinks, anything extra Vic might need when he begins to eat his dinner. She doesn't see Brian because he's staying in the shadows where he's always felt most contented. He likes watching her when she's unaware of anyone being around, because her switch is off and she's quiet, matronly pretty and she seems like a woman who has had a long hard journey to where she's gotten. She looks— _human_. It's how Brian had learned to love Michael's mother like his own.

She's nothing like Joan Kinney— _like this_ —or when she's a loudmouth nut-job. He aches watching her because at some point in their relationship he hasn't been allowed to seek immediate comfort from her, where he could freely walk up, put his arms around her frame and feel like those arms holding him back will love him without limits. These days he doesn't feel that same connection he used to and he can't recall when they disconnected.

He knows it has everything to do with Michael, but nothing obvious that Brian continues to wrack his brain over. He's not sure either of them are aware of how much he truly needs her now, now more than ever. Neither will admit that they're going through the same grief and loss. That the reason for their hearts to even still beat... is thousands of miles away unaware to their shared pain. It's why Brian is hiding in the shadows; why he waits for Debbie to leave and only Vic to remain behind.

It's an instant relief when Vic finally shows, because he's quickly sending Debbie off so he can be alone and enjoy the simple comforts of food and being alone. Well, alone with Brian.

“ _You gonna stay back there or am I gonna have to come get you?_ ” Vic speaks into the air, not really looking in any direction in particular. Brian's in his usual hiding place along the side of the house.

Brian lets out a low laugh as he leisurely strolls out of the darkness and brings himself into the light. “I'm not—well, I can't...”

“Hush. Sit down. Eat.” Vic waves Brian over to take a seat across form him, in front of the second plate of food. He gives Brian a quick look-see and deems him unfit to even grace his presence in a whole other way. It's not because he doesn't want Brian here; it's more because even in grief and suffering, Brian Kinney still holds a bit of beauty. “Goodness knows you look like you'll blow away with a good strong wind behind you.”

Brian slips out of his jacket as he bows chin to chest. He's unusually dressed like how Michael would typically be. No Khakis, but comfortable jeans that fit well. He wears sneakers—like Nike or Adidas and he has on a long-sleeved, button-down plaid shirt over a deep V-neck t-shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to the bends of his elbows. There's days of stubble on Brian's face and dark circles under his eyes, not to mention his brown locks have out-grown his short cut since before Michael left for Portland.

Brian Kinney looks less like the King of Babylon and more like Brian of Pittsburgh who just lost his best friend in the world. Vic misses this side of Brian, but this isn't the way he wants to see the sweet kid he knows exists.

“Tobias Decker,” Vic manages to call out from between several bites of food.

“huh?” Brian takes out the cloth napkin and sets it over his lap. He furrows his brow in confusion.

“Toby is what he liked to be called.” Vic is about to share a bit of personal information with Brian, hoping he will listen. “He's been my best friend since grade school.”

“yeah... and?” Brian is still unclear to Vic's point, taking out the fork and knife to work on cutting the food into smaller bites. He will eat as slow as possible, not sure if his stomach will be capable of holding down a meal at this point in time.

“I left high school and never looked back.” Vic took a swig of his iced tea, then wiped the napkin under his bottom lip. “Toby and I had been inseparable. He was also my first 'straight' crush.”

“Well, how sad and depressing.” Brian let out a little bit of a forced laugh, simply going to ride this particular conversation out until he understands what Vic's getting at. “How is that supposed to uplift me?”

“Oh... you want 'uplifting'?” Vic lifted one eyebrow in curiosity, shrugging a shoulder as he tilted his head. “I thought we were wallowing in shared self-pity.”

Brian is beginning to figure out what Vic has been attempting to tell him, in a not-so-roundabout way. “I'm allowed to grieve, aren't I?” He frowns and keeps his head bowed as he takes a few bites of the vegetables, then the mashed potatoes.

“Oh, sure... but you make it like you can't function without him. How is that going to make him feel if he returns and finds you— _like this_?” Vic used his left hand to reach a little across the table and gesture to Brian.

Brian glanced down at himself, a bit hurt by the comment. “What's wrong with the way I look?'

“Nothing.” Vic gives Brian another quick once-over with the shake of his head as he wipes at his mouth. “Problem is, son... you're too damn good-looking.” He has to chuckle when Brian looks away with some inherent shyness. “Even when you look like crap, it looks in style.”

“You have a weird way of complimenting me.” Brian's missed this way he and Vic have been able to connect. It had been the way he and Debbie had talked once before.

“You need to get back to the living.” Vic went back to picking up his knife, then frowning with some concern for not only Brian, but he and Debbie as well. It was unfair to fault Brian by himself. “We _all_ do. There's no sense in _us_ stopping in the middle of our own lives, if _his_ has moved forward without us.” He had no idea to what was going on with his nephew; he can't recall the last phone call from Michael, but it's been awhile.

“You heard from him?” Brian simply moves his eyebrows, not looking at Vic. He stunned when Vic doesn't respond quicker.

Vic can't admit to not having the closeness with Michael that he used to. “Have you?” He's more shocked that Michael might have abandoned Brian, or the other way around.

“Off and on.” Brian hates to admit that he might have been at fault for a little of the distance, simply because Michael knows his routine, knows that nothing has changed in a billion-ty years. It's Michael's daily itinerary that has to have gone through a major overhaul. “I thought it was me.” He glad that it's not just him that Michael could be freezing out.

“Maybe it's a lot more different than we can imagine and he really has become busy.” Vic stares off into the darkness of the backyard, his mind thinking over what Michael's life might be like In Portland. “Life moving faster than he can keep up with.”

“In Portland? Domesticated... and properly neutered by the Doc?” Brian snorts out a stifled laugh, it echoes through the emptiness of the air. “Oh, yeah... I'm sure he's busy 24/7.”

“Good. Keep that up.” Vic nods his head in approval, jutting his chin in Brian's direction. “Get angry—pissed. Do _something_ , but don't sit stagnate and get disparaged.”

Brian simply blurts out the apology. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?” Vic wrinkles his brow in confusion.

“I haven't been as—I've been avoiding people... situations.” Brian places a hand over his chest, smoothing down the material. “Mainly because they'll ask and they'll start to tell stories like it's a memorial of his death.” He shakes his head, looking off to the right and staring down at the grass. “I just—I can’t... not now anyway.”

“I get that. I was out in New York when Toby actually made it a point to come find me.”

“How'd it go?” Brian likes hearing a bit—more and more—about Vic's checkered past. It feels so rich and full of so much life and living.

“Back then we told very little about our sexuality. I left because The Pitts stifled me. It killed my spirit to keep hiding. It was tough to explain to him that I hadn't left because of him. I told him I left because it was better for him that I hadn't come fully out of the closer when we had it so good. Toby had gone to college, I had gone on to explore my own path in another city, far away.”

“What did he say to you?” Brian finally took a swig of his own iced tea.

“He thanked me, but said he still would've liked to have kept in touch. He cared about me; he even knew I had a crush no him.” Vic lets out a huge sigh, averting his head as he went on, “He said to me that he kept wanting to hate what I did but that the campus he lived on showed him more and more diversity and opened his mind.”

Brian quirks up one side of his mouth, a small grin building to wondering what Vic could be getting at next. “Still not understanding the sage advice here...”

“eh, you know me, boy.” Vic stares at Brian, then goes back to shoveling food onto his fork to take a bite. “Well, I guess it's to let you know it's not any better for the one who leaves.” He takes the eventually bite, chews for a little, then pushes the mashed food to the side of his cheek to be able to converse, “Michael went to Portland—far away to a city on the West Coast. But I went to New York City—the second I arrived I was an insignificant bug. I found some shelters, a few hostels to live in. There were a few times I wished to come back with my tail between my legs.”

Brian was already shaking his head in disagreement even before he spoke. “Michael will never do that.”

“Well, we will never know until it happens.” Vic leans a little over the table, his gaze intent on Brian's face. “He had to go, Brian. Trust me on _this sage advice_.” He goes back to sitting upright, his eyes still looking at Brian's averting gaze and as he keeps turning his head in different directions. This is tough to say to Brian, tougher to even have considered in Vic's own mind. “He had to go in order to know that home— _and everyone he loves_ —will be there for him to return to when he needs to. I can't tell you how easy of a decision it was for me to leave the City to come back here.”

“Even knowing you'd live with Debbie?” Brian says the words on a short laugh.

“Yes...” Vic nods his head, then lifts up both eyebrows in the memory of how easy of a choice it had been to make for himself. “—even knowing I'd be babied and coddled like I wasn't a day over a toddler's age.”

There's a long stretch of silence where both men think while eating, then Brian clears his throat. “I'm starting to change my mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don't know.” Brian shrugs his shoulders, continuing, “Maybe Michael's right. Maybe now is the best time to just uproot yourself and change your life with one big clean sweep.” He makes the grand gesture of his hand moving in mid-air across the table.

“What? Is some _firm_ asking for you?”

“No.”

“Is there _something_ out there you want bad enough to leave here?” Vic hasn't even heard anything through the grapevine; this has to be Brian's knee-jerk reaction to thinking this kind of decision will alleviate his agony.

“Life. A certain hustle-n-bustle I can't have here.” Even to Brian's own ears this sounds like a lame excuse to pack up his whole entire life and just... go.

Then Vic is nodding his head as if he's discovered the thought process behind Brian's thinking. “You mean... get lost enough in a crowd of total strangers so no one knows who you are, what you do or where you've been. Just reinvent a whole new Brian Kinney.”

“Why not?” Brian hears the doubt in Vic's tone, so he takes a little offense to the comment. “I _almost_ did it.”

“uh, yeah... 'almost' being the key word. _Sheesh..._ ” Vic shakes his head, knowing that Brian can't be this stupid to ignore what's blatantly there, inside of him.

“ _What_?”

“If you haven't left now, son... I'm afraid you won't _ever_ leave.” Vic throws his napkin over his plate to rest it in peace. Then crosses his arms to settle his elbows on the edge of the picnic table as he shoves his plate forward. “If you went, it would simply be out of spite and you truly don't want to leave with a cloud of gloom and doom over your head.”

Brian goes still for a mere second, then smirks. “Just ask me to stay and I will.”

“mmm-hmm...” Vic lets out his own smirk, turning it into a slow grin. “I'm afraid I'm not _the one_ you want to hear it from.”

“ _He_ 's not here.” Brian throws a leg over to straddle the bench; he's got the cloth napkin in his hands, twisting it between his fingers in a nervous action. “Who knows when he'll be back... how long we'll have to wait.”

Vic watches as Brian throws the other leg over and keeps his back facing the house. Vic opens up two beer bottles from the table that have been untouched, gets up to walk around and sit beside Brian. He hands him a bottle, clanging the sides together. “Cheers.”

“... likewise...”

Vic watches Brian take a long draw from the alcohol. “What do you get out of coming _here_?” Instead of leaning with his elbows on the table, Vic leans to the left, on his left elbow with his right leg crossed over his left knee.

“ _huh_?”

“This isn't the first time you've been out front. This is only the first time I've seen you.”

“I don't know why I—”

“Bullshit. Yes you do.”

“Fine. I'm wrong, you're right.”

“It's not about wrong or right. It's about being happy. In relationships. In work. In yourself.” Vic took the index and middle finger of his right hand to press on Brian's arm. “In times of strife, we tend to seek out what makes us happy. You were happiest _here_.”

Brian looks down as Vic tries to press into him hard enough to hit a “reset” button. “I was happiest with _him_.” He corrects Vic with a soft hushed tone.

“ _Him_? Him— _who_?” Vic pretends to not know who Brian could mean, tilting his head as if he hears strange noises.

“Vic...” There's a tiny smile on Brian's lips, but it doesn't reach very far before it disappears as he shakes his head. “—don't do this.”

“Hey, I'm not doing anything.” Vic puts up his hands in his own defense. “I don't see why it's so tough for you to say his name.”

“It's not—I just... I can't—” And it seems like Brian sits forward to try and breathe. Elbows on his upper thighs, Brian buries his face in both hands. “... _jesus christ_...” He tucks an arm around his belly. “I knew I shouldn't have eaten, I'd just make myself sick.”

Vic sets his beer down, now fully aware of how broken Brian has become. He glances over to see if any wandering eyes are looking, then leans toward Brian's hunched frame. “You come here because you _miss_ him.” Vic places a hand on Brian's back, between the shoulder blades. “You miss Michael, Brian.” He can already hear the dry sob, the choked intake of air. Moisture gathers in Vic's eyes as he trudges on, “I miss him too. We can't help it—we love him. _He_ 's always— _always_ —been there for _us_... waiting for _us_ to have some common sense knocked into our heads. Me and New York City... you and college, then you and the mere idea of New York City. _We_ foolishly thought _Michael_ would be the stationary one, letting us revolve around him to wake us, make us think about how deeply we _do_ feel.” Vic feels Brian pull away, until he's sliding off the bench and wandering off.

“Stop. Please... jus' stop.” Brian's finding it difficult to breathe again and to keep his head up. He's afraid if he doesn't quit shedding tears now, he'll never stop.

Slowly, Vic watches Brian, giving him the space momentarily. “It's okay, Brian... do what you need to with me. I won't judge you. Or force you to say something you can't.” But soon he's up on his feet and pursuing Brian. “We're simply stating facts, not making deathbed confessions.”

Brian starts to pace over the backyard. “I lied to you—earlier.”

“ _Oh_? About _what_?” There's a multitude of lies Vic is aware of Brian telling him, so he'll wait for the admission before he makes a guess.

“When I told you I changed my mind...”

“yeah...”

Brian stops, hands tucked in his jean pockets as he stares at Vic. His hazel eyes are glistening in the evening light and the hue from the back-porch. “uhm...” He clears his throat and as he tilts to look at the sky a slow, solitary tear escapes as he sniffles. “I shoulda told 'im 'no'...” His voice is beginning to break. “I shoulda told him to stay— _don't go—stay_...” Brian lifts his arms to cover his eyes in shame. “... _stay—with me_...”

And like clockwork, Vic's there with his arms going around Brian's body, pulling him in and holding him tight. For a brief time, Brian's arms are trapped by Vic's embrace, but he untucks to lift then secure them around Vic—like he usually does with Michael. If Brian closes his eyes tight enough, these arms _do_ feel like Michael's—Novotny's and Grassi's hug alike. It's a hold tight enough so that you don't have to do any of the work—they feel enough emotion for the both of you. Which is good— _like now_ —when you feel weakened and weary of every emotion.

Brian drapes over Vic, burying his face away. He feels the hands soothe over his back, the sweet words coo-ed in his ear to settle him to calm. It's enough for now, but he's still not up to snuff like he should be. And it's really not about Michael or having him here in the flesh.

It has everything to do with Debbie...

~*~

She can't help it. It's like a bad habit she can't break. Even when she's unhappy and pissed off with _someone_ — _this someone being Brian_ —she still cares. She tries not to be too curious, tries to take her dinner plate into the living room to occupy her mind with eating and focusing on the TV screen. But even when she's finished eating, the show she's viewing doesn't consume her mind like she wants.

She doesn't want to care, but she does. She doesn't want to check on Vic—he's old enough to take care of himself—but she still worries. She doesn't want to think about Michael, but she can't prevent a single memory cropping up with him in; Michael has been her whole life. She doesn't want to feel pity or sympathy for Brian, or even fathom that they might be going through the same grief. She tries to tell herself to keep seated. Her favorite game show is coming up next, but she's got an urge to carry her plate to the kitchen, wash it off and maybe soak the pots and pans she had used to make dinner.

Once she looks out the window above the sink, she sees Vic and Brian, then Brian eating that second plate of food as if he had been starved for days. She feels her heart lurch because she's done that to herself—not eaten because her stomach was clenched in knots constantly. Even when she's around food all day at the diner.

It had happened more frequently after Michael left, but it doesn't happen much _now_ — _two and a half months later_ —but when it does, she knows _exactly_ what the problem is. It's a silly fear, but she feels it. She wonders if that's why Brian keeps coming over. Yeah, she's seen him more than once at the house, a little too pleased that he suffers the loss of Michael. If she couldn't keep Michael at home, then she had hoped Brian could. Except he did something far worse; he never said a word and let Michael go. Serves him right; she's glad he's suffering.

As she scrubs at the pans, then the pots, she eyes Vic moving around the table to talk privately with Brian. She can't help being mesmerized, to narrowing her eyes like she can concentrate harder and overhear what they're saying. She catches Vic leaning in when Brian hunches over more, then she startles when Brian shuffles away and starts to pace. She hears him fine now.

It probably wouldn't have mattered what Brian said— _though she can hear him clearly_ —because it's the sudden sign of Brian ripping at the seams and finally shedding tears that undo her. She has cried herself— _alone, in private_ —and she knows what this pain feels like and it can be overwhelming. She walks away from the window. It's tough to breathe when your chest tightens at the onslaught of deep, wracking sobs.

With uncontrollable tears, Debbie cleans up the last of her mess, shuts the dishwasher door to turn wash everything later on when she's more capable. She wipes off the stove-top and then the dining table surface. She turns off the television and climbs up the stairs as fast as she can. She shuts herself behind her bedroom door, doesn't lock it and moves to sit on the side of her bed. She's numbly sobbing now, unsure how awful her face must look. She starts to unpin her wig and takes off her jewelry. It's like she sheds off layers of her courage because she knows she's a fraud.

About ten minutes later, a knock sounds on her door.

“Ya-yeah-yes?” Debbie's sitting in front of her vanity, taking off the smeared make-up. She turns in her seated position, expecting the paneling to open.

“I's jus' me, sis.” Vic speaks in a low whispered tone. “Brian's downstairs. He's gonna sleep on the couch for a few hours. Jus' want you to know so's you don't get scared.” There's a moment of silent, a grand pause of respect in knowing that he won't bother her is she's overly emotional. “'Night, Deb.”

She's a bit upset Vic doesn't pop his head through, but mostly grateful since she hadn't put on her hard veneer and act like nothing was bothering her. She feels slightly better, safe and hidden away in her nightgown and housecoat. She paces to her bed and flips to her side to ease herself into slumber by the glow of the TV monitor on the other side of the room.

~*~

Sometime in the early morning hours, she wakes up and can't go back to sleep. She heads out of her bedroom, making it to the top of the stairs and stops suddenly. There's noise from the kitchen and for a split second Debbie thinks Vic's wide awake, unable to sleep. It's not until she's downstairs and in the living room that she recalls Brian is here. She sees his leather jacket, his shoes... the blankets in disarray and pillows strewn over the couch like someone had been trying to sleep, but had become restless. She thought he would have left earlier, slept at his own place.

She rounds the corner and stands at the archway from living room into the dinette and kitchen. She pulls out a chair to sit down, watching Brian clean the last of the dishes to put in the dishwasher. “You didn't have to do that.”

“I know.” Brian makes his answers curt and short.

“Thanks for doin' them.”

“You're welcome.” Brian closes the dishwasher door, shoves the lever to lock and presses the correct buttons to get a load started.

“You hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Well...” Debbie slowly rises out of her chair.

Brian dries off the sink and counter then his hands as he doesn't even lift his head. “I should go.”

Debbie's not prepared for Brian's swift exit. He's so much taller than Michael and where she would've been able to catch Michael's arm, around the biceps, he escapes rather deftly. She thinks since he's here, he could stick around and they can— _what? Talk?_ They haven't done that in years. She spins at her chair to face the living room, watching Brian bend at the waist to put on his shoes as he sits on the couch. She knows she should go about her own business, make that sandwich she's hungry for, but she can't help the draw she has toward Brian. Oddly, it's not laced with frustration or annoyance. She has no idea to what she'll say to him.

Brian sits upright, leaning on the back of the cushions and Debbie's right behind him, hands hovering momentarily in hesitation. She can detect the momentum of Brian's body—to push off the couch, but she finally puts down her hands directly on top of his shoulders.

It's a weird sensation of touch she hadn't expected, because it reminds her of years ago when she faced this young, angsty teenager who flinched from mere nearness. Now this “teenager” has grown into a complicated man, she feels that old manner of Brian wanting to pull away. For some reason, she won't let him. She keeps him there as she leans over to... kiss the crown of his head. She's done this before— _ages ago_ —when Michael and Brian had sat on this very couch. It's a bittersweet reminder of what is lost to them both—so much more than just Michael.

At first Brian reaches up with his hand as if to remove Debbie's grip. No matter what difficulties they have between them, they will always feel like a pseudo-family—with or without Michael presence. They have to find new ground to land on or Michael will have left for nothing. These kinds of bonds should grow stronger, not fall apart forever. So he places his hand on top of one of Debbie's, squeezing the shape as he leans his head toward the curve of her arm— _maybe even against her body_ —as she leans over.

Debbie's hand shifts to the bend of her arm sliding down to surround Brian's throat to hook fingers at the neck. She watches the lashes hit pale skin and hears the small contented sigh. Brian's not one to ask for comfort, he'll suffer until he's breaking apart. But the one thing Michael has taught him— _the one thing being with the Novotny family_ —is that when they give comfort... it's not a ploy to get you to bend to their will. Novotny's actually care about your welfare and their touch, their hugs... and their words are genuine and heartfelt.

Brian knows better than to squander those moments and just to savor them.

  
_“_   
_... it hurts to be here_   
_I only wanted love from you_   
_it hurts to be here_   
_what am I gonna do?_   
_all I have, all I need_   
_he's the air I would kill to breathe_   
_holds my love in his hands_   
_still I'm searching...”_   


**~*~the end**


End file.
